


In the Palm of Her Hand

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Xing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an assassin nearly kills Lan Fan, Ling announces an imperial vacation, and May checks his head of guard's <em>chi</em> lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Palm of Her Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Your ace!May headcanon is perfect and I want to consensually hug it. Anyway, Mayfan: scars + healing".
> 
> I'm quite enjoying the steady stream of May Fan prompts, y'know. As usual, Lan Fan is a trans woman and May is ace etc. etc. etc. you guys already know my headcanons etc. etc. etc. thank you.
> 
> Unedited due to length. Enjoy!

Lan Fan keeps her heavy lids lowered over her eyes, her lashes ghosting over the curve of her cheek. Below the knees she has folded beneath her thighs, the wood floor presses into her skin despite the loose fabric of the black trousers. She inhales: smoke from outside where Ling is trying desperately to cover up his utter inability to cook anything without charring it to a crisp; the heady mix of incenses—although she could detect the distinct scent of a smoke bomb or the sharply bitter smell of cyanide from such distance that her _shifu_ had considered her gifted almost beyond a typical range, she knew little of the various flowers, herbs, and so on that went into incenses—that glow soft light over her shuttered vision; the fragrance of the warm oils May is kneading into the taut muscle of her back.

Her hands are warm, her fingertips exceedingly gentle, her touches so ephemeral that Lan Fan longs to cry out from frustration. Yet each time she arches her back into May’s palms, she can _sense_ May’s smile in the _chi_.

May hums as she massages. Flits up the curve of Lan Fan’s spine and runs along the shoulder blades to slope downwards, tickling the sides between her ribs before returning to swip down into the small of her back. Lan Fan recognises the melody: a Chang folk song. Something about a carp with scales as radiant as the sunset who believes herself a dragon, who climbs a waterfall, who transforms, ultimately into the spirit of the waterfall itself.

A dragon.

Presently May brushes against a healing wound—it extends from the middle right of her back to loop over her hip and end partway towards her navel, courtesy of an assassin’s blade that slipped through a gap in her armour—and Lan Fan shudders despite the nails dug into her palms and the teeth bitten into her tongue.

“Sorry,” May whispers behind her. Her palms settle just above Lan Fan’s hips; May leans forward to kiss her between the shoulder blades. The sensation of her lips, somehow even warmer than her hands or the oil, races a shiver through Lan Fan’s entire form; her toes curl. “You need to be more careful, Lan Fan.”

Reaching behind her, Lan Fan closes her fingers around the inset of May’s wrist—her heartbeat pulses rapidly, so rapidly, against the scarred folds of Lan Fan’s palm—and turns her head back. May’s irises glimmer at the rims of her wide pupils, like the night skies had swirled into her eyes.

“I’m proud to serve as his bodyguard.” Lan Fan hesitates. The fresh injury _throbs_. More-so on her abdomen than over her back. To some extent she supposes that she owes the assassin a favour for prompting Ling to announce a miniature vacation while his head of guard recovers; the decoy Emperor currently on the throne is nothing more than a look-alike. Lan Fan appreciates Ling’s actions more than she can say. “But I could live without the wounds, yes.” May’s mouth unfolds into a grin, halfway of relief and halfway of amusement, and Lan Fan feels her own lips quirk up with the contagiousness of May’s joy. “. . . may I kiss you?”

May blushes; Lan Fan confirms that all is right with the world. “I’ve told you before, Lan Fan: You can kiss _me_ whenever you like.”

Lan Fan twists further. Away from May, her back cools just as her flesh heats from proximity to _May, May, May_. “Have you heard of the Amestrisian custom of kissing injuries to make them feel better?”

“Yes,” says May, slipping her hands up Lan Fan’s abdomen to curve around either side of her chest instead, “but I daresay I would rather kiss your mouth.” A mischievous twinkle in her eye. “And then, perhaps, the rest of you.”


End file.
